MY shag-hair Cyclops, come, let's ply <br />Our Lemnian hammers lustily. <br />By my wife's sparrows, <br />I swear these arrows <br />Shall singing fly <br />Through many a wanton's eye. <br /> <br />These headed are with golden blisses, <br />These silver ones feathered with kisses, <br />But this of lead <br />Strikes a clown dead, <br />When in a dance <br />He falls in a trance, <br />To see his black-brow lass not buss him, <br />And then whines out for death t'untruss him. <br />So, so : our work being done, let's play : <br />Holiday ! boys, cry holiday !<br /><br />John Lyly<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/vulcan-s-song-in-making-of-the-arrows/
